


Shoulders of the Mountains

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, M/M, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my take on what happens after  the events of Treeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoulders of the Mountains

## Shoulders of the Mountains

by J.M. Griffin

Alas, they do not belong to me. But they do still speak in my ear from time to time.   


Wow, Greenwoman, will you look at what you've caused! 

I couldn't help but find a positive ending.

This story is a sequel to: Treeline 

* * *

Shoulders of the Mountains  
by J. M. Griffin 

His hands had trembled while he wrote the letter to Blair. He had been forced to stop, go do something else for a while, before he could go back to it and finish up. So much was riding on the words Jim had put on that page. 

But Simon had told him Blair had been reluctant to take it. 

Blair, he was always "Blair" in Jim's head these days, and sometimes "Chief," but never "Sandburg." 

Sandburg, the man who had become a cop for him, the man who had been at his side as his partner and guide for all those years, that man was gone. They had each been stripped down to the bare essence of themselves. Jim and Blair. Blair and Jim. Except they were no longer partners of any sort. 

Simon reported that Blair was lean, tanned, healthy. Weary. 

Jim felt that weariness himself. It kept him from thinking quickly on the job, and made him feel he was walking through molasses. His heart was weary too. Sometimes he just wanted to die. 

The thought stabbed at him as he sat on the couch in the gloomy loft. It was dusk and Jim hadn't turned on any lights. He didn't need to, really. Without Blair in the place, light wasn't necessary. 

Blair had wanted to die when he was in jail. He'd used a small piece of metal he'd found in the laundry room and hacked at his wrists. Simon said the scars were still quite evident, but the wounds had healed nicely. Jim doubted it. Those wounds would never heal. Blair would never heal. It had all been too much. Starting with the academy, his days had been filled with heckling and hatred. Even with his hair short, in cadet uniform like the rest, Blair stood out. He was older, smarter, different. 

As a cop he'd been superior, if restrained. If no one else noticed how quiet his partner had become, Jim certainly had. He'd laid awake nights worrying about it. But he had not spoken up. He'd let Blair carry the burden alone, not knowing what to say or how to help. And then it had all blown up in their faces with the Vogel case. During the trial, when Blair's credibility had been systematically destroyed by that damned defense attorney, Jim had sat motionless, unable to do anything but watch as Blair was torn apart. The subsequent lawsuit by the university had been too much for a man who had already had his life ripped to shreds. 

And during it all Jim was powerless. Nothing he did made any impact on what was happening to Blair. Nothing he said seemed to help. At night, he dreamed he was drowning. He would wake with his heart pounding in his ears. Eventually, when his heart stopped racing, he would hear Blair rustling around in his bedroom, not sleeping at all. 

Jim owed a debt to Simon for all the man had done during that time. It was Simon who had made the connections, called in the markers, and turned things around for Blair. It was due to Simon that, in the end, Blair was exonerated of all charges. But it had been too late, the damage had been done, and Jim knew it was irreversible. 

The sky was darkening quickly and lights were coming on all over town. Jim stood in front of the big windows and watched the transformation. 

He wished, with the deepest part of himself, he could go back and change time. How far would he take it? To before the trials, the academy, the dissertation. The fountain. Maybe all the way back to the day when they had gotten back from Peru. To the day Blair had told Jim he suddenly understood it was all about friendship. If Jim could push time back to that day, he would correct his guide and tell him it was about friendship and more. It was all about love. 

"I love you , Blair." 

With shaking hands, he'd written it in the letter. Not much more than that. 

But Simon said he wasn't sure if Blair was going to read it. "It looks iffy, Jim. Sorry." 

Simon did not say, "Move, you fool. Shake off this friggin morose bullshit and DO something." At least, not aloud. 

Abruptly, Jim turned away from the window and strode across the room to the door. He grabbed his field jacket and his keys. It was time to make a move. 

The storm of two days ago had taken out the road below Pacheco, but the detour was easy enough for a vehicle with four wheel drive. Jim drove slowly until he was just above the treeline. He found himself looking anxiously at the occasional tree. They were oddly shaped things hardly recognizable as the tall pines they were meant to be. For some strange reason, they gave Jim an itchy, urgent feeling and he began to drive faster than he should, following the map Simon had given him six months ago. 

Six months ago, Simon had known what Jim should have known. That while he could not change the past; he could make his mark on the future. 

He negotiated the last tight turn and came to a stop a few yards in front of a small cabin with a new screen door. Blair stood outside, gazing straight at him. Of course, in this high reach above the shoulders of the mountains, Blair would have heard someone coming up the mountain road. Jim fumbled with his seat belt, scared to look down to see what he was doing, scared to take his eyes off Blair for fear the man might somehow disappear. But Blair stood resolutely, watching intently as Jim finally wrested free from the belt and got out of his vehicle. 

He walked slowly across the expanse between them. He did not take his eyes off Blair and Blair did not look away. Jim stopped a few feet from his guide, his best friend in the world, his greatest love. 

"Jim...," Blair spoke quickly. 

"No," Jim shook his head. "I have something to say. Please let me say it first." 

Blair nodded. The wind was whipping the loose tendrils of his hair around, and Jim had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a strand behind Blair's ear. 

"I love you." Jim said clearly. "I always have. I've spent years scared down to my toes, trying to shove you away, trying not to love you. The fear made me powerless to help you when I should have. But I'm not scared anymore." 

"Why not?" Blair asked quietly, his blue eyes brighter than the crisp fall sky above his head. 

"Because I have found that life without you is the scariest thing of all. I've found I have no life at all, without you." 

"I'm not the person I used to be." Blair's voice was barely audible. 

"Neither am I." Jim took a step forward, one tiny step toward building a bridge over a chasm a mile long. 

But then Blair moved forward too, and suddenly the chasm between them collapsed into a mere ravine. 

"Blair..., Chief..., I love you." Jim spread his arms wide, and suddenly Blair threw himself into his embrace, closing the gap altogether. 

"Jim, Jim...," Blair sobbed brokenly against his chest, and the sentinel could feel the fragile strength of the other man's bones, the snap and sinew and muscle of him. The winged beating of his heart. He drew Blair closer. Held him tighter. Blair's arms wound round Jim's waist. 

As the two men stood welded together, an envelope dropped out of Blair's hand and was picked up by a gust of wind. It soared, like a heart set free of pain, over the car, past the treeline, toward the mountain peaks. A hawk screeched high in the blue sky. A wolf howled. And far in the distance, a wild cat roared. 

* * *

End Shoulders of the Mountains by J.M. Griffin: aeriejm@pdq.net

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
